


a guide to gardening for celebrities and serial killers

by cruellae (tinkabelladk)



Series: wild heart, wicked soul [4]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Coffee Dad Sakura Sojiro, M/M, Selectively Mute Akira, emotionally dysfunctional akechi, tw: suicide attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:02:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27918658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinkabelladk/pseuds/cruellae
Summary: It’s not until Akira Kurusu finally finds a safe haven that he allows himself to fall. Goro Akechi has never caught anyone in his life.TW for attempted suicide
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Series: wild heart, wicked soul [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1795612
Comments: 68
Kudos: 327





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> tw for suicide attempt 
> 
> thank you very much [carys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/intimatopia/pseuds/intimatopia) for helping me figure this fic out! (it's still a process...)

It’s rare for Masayoshi Shido to get phone calls in prison. In fact, it happened on only one prior occasion that he can remember. Usually prisoners are not allowed the luxury of an unscheduled call. But Goro has a lot of sway within the justice system, and Masayoshi has spent the last seven years being a model prisoner. 

Even so, he’s surprised when he’s ushered out of his cell to the phone booths, each encased in clear plastic to make it impossible to hide anything from the guards. 

He takes the phone carefully, almost delicately. It’s an ugly, chunky object, bright yellow and chained to the wall so prisoners don’t run off with it and use it to club each other. It’s possible no one will ever call him like this again, and he takes a moment to savor the unexpected pleasure before he brings the phone to his ear. 

“Hello?” 

It’s a far cry from the kind of decisive, aggressive greetings he used to give at the height of his manic grab for power. Back then, he could say whatever he wanted because everyone feared him. Everyone except Goro. 

“How do you get blood stains out of the carpet?” 

Goro doesn’t bother with hello, but that’s normal. Masayoshi is quiet for a moment, taking in the situation. The rough, overly brusque tone of Goro’s voice. The strange question. The call, out of the blue. 

He wonders if Goro has killed someone. 

Despite his new station in life, Masayoshi knows Goro is still capable of terrible things, that he will probably always carry that violence in his heart. But murder takes both motive and opportunity, and it is unlikely Goro will ever have both at the same time. 

“Why is there blood on your carpet, Goro?” 

Masayoshi knows he doesn’t need to remind Goro that this line is monitored. Goro would never be so clumsy, not even in the depths of madness. 

“It doesn’t—” Goro’s voice breaks, and he drags in a deep breath. “Hah. It doesn’t fucking matter, Shido.”

“Please talk to me,” Masayoshi says. He knows Goro didn’t call for carpet cleaning tips, but rather because he probably has no one else who he will let watch him fall apart. “Tell me what happened.” 

“Akira…” Goro sucks in air like he’s drowning. “Akira tried to kill himself. In the bathroom, with a razor. It was just—it was just like—” 

The silence on the other end of the line is so complete that Masayoshi worries the connection has gone dead. The image feels like a lance through his heart, and he remembers the day his information network brought him news of a young woman he had once loved, who bled out on her bathroom floor while her young son slept in the next room. 

It meant very little to him then. Now, he feels guilt upon him like weighty sandbags, pulling at him with every breath. 

“Goro?” he says, softly. 

A shaky breath on the other line. 

“This is not your fault,” he says. It’s all he can think of to say. “This is not your fault, my son.” 

“Isn’t it?” Goro’s tone is unbearably bitter. “You did it to my mother, and now I’m doing the same to him.” 

“Did he tell you that you were the reason?” 

“He didn’t need to. It’s obvious. I should have known better from the very beginning.” 

Masayoshi takes a moment before responding. 

“He chose you,” he says softly. “He chose to share his life with you. I do not know Kurusu-san well, but he seems the type to make decisions like that meaningfully.” 

Goro is quiet. Masayoshi waits. 

“They kicked me out of the psychiatric ward,” he says, finally. “I was angry with him. I was…I’m still so angry.” 

“You love him.” 

For once, Goro doesn’t try to deny it. 

“I have taught you nothing about how to care for someone,” Masayoshi admits. It pains him to speak of it, the guilt that eats at him always, but it’s the truth. He will gain nothing by refusing to face it. 

“It wasn’t important.” Goro’s voice sounds distant, shuttered. “I don’t have that capability anyway.” 

“You know that’s not true,” Masayoshi says, low and disapproving. “Don’t try to escape this responsibility, Goro.” 

“I’m not trying to escape,” Goro hisses. “I am trying not to make a bad situation worse. Shido—you don’t fucking  _ understand. _ You weren’t there; you didn’t see him with the razor in his hand. How can you possibly know anything about it?” 

“What are you going to do then?” Shido asks, no small measure of dread in his heart. 

“I don’t know,” Goro admits, very softly. “I don’t know.” 

#####  -

In a way, Sojiro has been expecting this call for a while. Akechi was terse, his voice cold and sharp as he listed off the barest facts for Sojiro before hanging up without saying goodbye. But somehow Sojiro knew what he was going to say before he said it, so it didn’t matter too much that he didn’t elaborate. 

Sojiro has been here before. He’s not surprised it’s happening again. 

The first time Akira tried to kill himself was in jail, but Sojiro didn’t learn that until a lot later. The first attempt he knew about came shortly after Akira was released, when he opened LeBlanc one morning to find the kid lying in a puddle of his own puke in the bathroom, empty pill bottles scattered around him. 

Sojiro sat by Akira’s hospital bed after he got his stomach pumped, then took care of him when he came home. Washed Akira’s clothes and cleaned the attic room and made him a cup of coffee every morning even when he made it clear he wasn’t planning on going to school. 

Sojiro doesn’t know much about dealing with the kind of trauma Akira is carrying around—probably more of it than he’ll ever know. But back then he knew the kid needed a safe haven, and that he could provide. 

Now he supposes it’s mostly Akechi’s job to look after Akira, but he’ll still do what he can. 

He makes his way to the locked ward, giving the nurse at the station his most charming smile, the one that makes the little old ladies at LeBlanc tip twice as much and blush on their way out. It’s the one that, occasionally, on a good day, gets Sae to pause and give him a kiss on the cheek before she runs out on him at six in the morning, off to her high powered job and her important political career. He doesn’t know much about that stuff either, but it’s clear she needs a safe haven too and he knows how to provide that much.

The nurse lets him in and he finds Akira lying on a bed in one of the side rooms, his eyes open but blank. Sojiro takes off his hat and sits on the bed facing Akira, his heart aching for how bad this kid must be hurting. 

“Hey,” he says. “Can you sit up for me, kiddo?” 

After a moment, Akira slowly pushes himself up into a sitting position. He looks exhausted, and he’s wearing a pair of scrubs they must have given him at the hospital. His left arm is wrapped in tape and white gauze. 

“How are you?” Sojiro asks. 

Akira looks at him, his gray eyes dark and haunted. His fingers twitch but his lips remain motionless. Sojiro remembers this too. It was a good month after jail before Akira started talking again, and twice as long before he’d say more than a single sentence at a time. 

“Don’t feel like talking right now?” Sojiro asks. He’s barely aware of what he’s saying; the words are more a comforting cadence than intended to convey real meaning. “That’s okay.” 

Akira looks vaguely relieved. 

“Is it okay with you if I ask your doctor what happened?” 

He’s answered with a short nod, a dismissive wave of Akira’s hand that almost certainly means,  _ go ahead, I already told them.  _

Sojiro reaches out to gently pat Akira’s trembling fingers. 

“I’m gonna find the doctor now. Do you want to come with or stay here?” 

Akira shakes his head, pressing his palm firmly down on the mattress.  _ Stay here.  _

“You got it,” Sojiro says gently, and gets up to look for the doctor. 


	2. Chapter 2

When a knock sounds on the front door, Akechi is still on his hands and knees, scrubbing the bathroom tiles even though they’re already glossy and glowing beneath the bright overhead light. The entire bathroom smells like bleach, and he’s scrubbed every corner, every crevice between the tub and the floor, every inch of the sink. Over and over and over. 

He gets up, rinsing his hands in the sink, and goes to answer it. Sojiro is standing there, Akira by his side. Akira is wearing a baggy sweater and sweatpants, his arms wrapped around himself and his bright eyes dulled and listless. 

Goro steps back to let them in. Sojiro deposits a large box on the counter—it smells of curry, but Goro can also see a little paper bag from the pharmacy tucked in with the food, and what are likely hospital discharge papers folded beside it. 

“Akira,” Sojiro says, low and gentle. 

Akira nods at him like that was a question, and Sojiro seems satisfied with the response, turning to Goro. Akira pads down the hall as they talk, and Goro stands for a moment, torn between the need to listen to Sojiro’s explanation about the medication and the overwhelming compulsion not to let Akira out of his sight for even a second. 

“He’s okay,” Sojiro says, as though he could possibly know. 

“I—you can’t possibly  _ know  _ that,” Goro says, and hurries down the hallway after Akira. 

He finds Akira in the bedroom, sitting on the side of the bed as he peels off the large sweatshirt he was wearing. The flash of white bandages on his arms makes Goro almost dizzy with rage. 

But then Akira looks at him, and the haunted, hollow gaze is enough to make Goro immediately regret his anger. Akira wraps his arms around himself and looks down at the ground. 

Goro sits beside him on the bed, and a long silence lingers between them. 

“Are you going to do it again?” Goro asks. 

Akira shakes his head. 

“How can I trust you?” Goro’s voice is choked, almost desperate. 

Silence. Goro supposes it’s not a question that can be answered easily. 

“Well, I guess you’d better get used to my presence then,” Goro says. If nothing else, he knows how to be ruthlessly pragmatic. “Come eat.” 

Obediently, Akira follows him. Out in the living room, Sojiro is nowhere to be seen, but there’s a note on the counter explaining what the medications in the bag are and how to heat up the curry. As though Goro has never used a microwave. 

As Goro is spooning rice into the curry dishes, Akira wanders into the kitchen. He feels the gentle, tentative pressure of Akira’s fingers on his wrist, and then Akira is taking him by both hands and wrapping Goro’s arms around him as though Goro is simply a doll, or perhaps a very incompetent caretaker. 

Goro tightens his grip on Akira, fists clenching the back of Akira’s shirt, and he buries his nose into the curve of Akira’s neck. 

Akira melts into the embrace, leaning against Goro and sighing softly. He feels slender and almost frail in Goro’s arms, and Goro wonders if he’s been skipping meals and forgetting to eat, as he sometimes does. 

Well, not tonight. Goro may not be much of a nurturer, but he can see to it that Akira is fed. 

“Come on, Akira,” Goro says. “Let’s eat.” 

Akira takes his bowl of curry and sits on the couch, setting it on the coffee table. Goro joins him with his own dinner, though he isn’t very hungry. 

“Do you want to watch something?” he asks Akira. 

Akira is quiet for a moment, head tilted. Then he makes a motion with his hand like the waves of the sea. 

“Do you want to finish the ocean documentary?” Goro asks. 

Akira nods, looking relieved.

“Eat your dinner,” Goro says. “It’s going to get cold.” 

Ten minutes later, Akira has eaten approximately four bites of curry, watching the placid documentary pan over underwater shots of coral reefs. He sets his bowl aside and leans against Goro, his fingers absentmindedly plucking at the button in the cuff of Goro’s left sleeve. 

Ten minutes after that, he’s fast asleep, his face pressed against Goro’s shoulder. Goro leans his head back and tries to fight back the overwhelming wave of emotion threatening to crash over him. 

He wonders when Sojiro is going to tell the rest of Akira’s friends about this. In truth, he’s surprised Sojiro brought Akira back to begin with. He had been almost certain Sojiro would take Akira home with him rather than leave him with the fiance who made him so desperately unhappy in the first place. 

Well. There’s still time for that. Maybe Akira’s friends will come to his rescue, sweep him away to somewhere untainted by the rot in Goro’s heart. 

Goro sighs, slowly disentangling himself from Akira, who slumps against the couch cushions without waking. He does the dishes, then returns to see Akira has barely stirred despite the noise. 

“Let’s get you to bed,” he says, lifting Akira in his arms. Akira blinks blurrily at him, leaning against his chest as he carries him down the hall and gently sets him on the bed. He forces a half-asleep Akira to brush his teeth, take the medicine Sojiro brought, and change into pajamas. After, Akira crawls into bed and is asleep almost immediately. Goro sits beside him in bed and opens his laptop. 

He’s able to lose himself in work emails for a while, a discussion of investigation protocols that he’s been quite invested in and vocal about. It’s clear and rigid, with a rulebook to follow, and much easier to navigate than the emotional mess his personal life has become. 

When he puts his laptop away, it’s past midnight, and Akira’s breathing is deep and even. Goro lies down beside him, pulling Akira’s limp body into his arms. Curled around Akira like a shell, he closes his eyes and whispers softly as a single leaf stirring on a still branch. 

“I’m sorry I can’t make you happy. If I had known I would bring you so much pain I would never have come into your life again. Akira…” 

His breath catches, and he pauses for a moment, trying to compose himself. 

“I love you.” 

It’s something he almost never says, something he hates to say because it strips him bare, leaves him vulnerable and easy to wound. But now he wonders if his inability to show affection is one of the reasons Akira has been so miserable. 

“I’m sorry I can’t let you go,” he whispers. “Even if it would be best for you...I’ll never be able to let you go.” 

He lies there beside Akira for a very long time before he falls asleep. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a warning, there is going to be some animosity between goro and the phantom thieves in the chapters to come. none of it is meant to be character bashing - i love all my delinquent children. and it's not meant to pit them against each other, it's just that this is a high stress situation with emotions running hot and they've never really resolved the deep seated issues that started way back in their thieving days.

**Akechi:** I need a favor. 

**Akechi:** It’s for Akira. 

**Ryuji:** sure what’s up

**Akechi:** You can’t tell the others. 

**Ryuji:** is it a thing like the rings? u wanna surprise him?

**Akechi:** No. 

**Akechi:** You have to promise me you’ll keep this a secret. 

**Ryuji:** fine whatevs 

**Akechi:** Akira tried to kill himself. 

**Akechi:** This was three days ago. 

**Akechi:** I can’t take any more time off of work. Can you come watch him today?

**Ryuji:** fuck fuck fuck

**Ryuji:** holy fuckin shit 

**Ryuji:** you can’t tell me that shit over text

**Ryuji:** i’m comin over rn 

After the weirdest text conversation he’s ever had and a frantic dash across Tokyo, Ryuji arrives at the building where Akira and Akechi live. He darts inside, sprints down the hall, and bangs hard on Akira’s door. 

Akechi answers it, looking tidy and groomed as always. No sign of turmoil except a slight tension around his eyes. Right then, Ryuji hates him a little. How dare he look so polished three days after his fiance tried to commit suicide? 

But if this is Akechi’s fault, then it’s Ryuji’s fault too. All of them are to blame, because none of them saw this coming or did anything to stop it. 

“Where is he?” Ryuji asks. 

“Come in,” Akechi says, stepping aside. 

Ryuji does, striding into the apartment and looking around wildly. “Akira?” he calls, hating the tremor in his voice. 

A head of dark hair pops up from behind the back of the sofa. Akira glances at Ryuji for a moment, then turns his attention to Akechi. His eyes narrow and he scowls, gesturing sharply to Ryuji. 

“I had to tell someone,” Akechi says, sounding defensive. “I can’t very well leave you alone while I go to work.” 

Akira waves his hand dismissively. 

“It would not be  _ fine, _ ” Akechi says, with barely restrained exasperation. 

At that, Akira draws his knees to his chest and rests his chin on them, making a shooing motion with his hand. 

For a brief moment, Akechi’s face falls. He gets it under control almost immediately, but it’s enough to make Ryuji hate him a little less. 

“Don’t worry,” Akechi says. “I’m leaving.” 

He taps a note on the kitchen counter, glancing at Ryuji. “Everything you need to know is here. Try not to fuck it up.” 

That’s it. Ryuji hates him again. 

Akechi grabs his briefcase and slips out the door. Ryuji crosses the room and joins Akira on the couch. 

“Hey man,” he says, helplessly. “What happened?” 

Akira, already curled in on himself with his knees pressed to his chest, draws in further. 

“It’s okay,” Ryuji says, feeling like some kind of asshole for asking. Akechi should have called Ann or Haru—he’s not good with this emotional shit. 

Akira relaxes a little. 

“But, uh, I do gotta say that I’m so fuckin glad you survived,” Ryuji says. “Can I give you a hug, man?” 

After a second, Akira uncurls himself and opens his arms. Ryuji grabs him and hugs him tightly for a long moment. 

He pulls away, blinking back tears, and laughs, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. 

“You remember how you always said I was the tank?” he asked. “You always said I did good protecting the team, like a shield?” 

Akira nods, a ghost of a smile across his face. 

“I wish I coulda protected you from whatever it was,” he says. “I really do.” 

Akira’s expression softens. He squeezes Ryuji’s hand and then reaches for the TV remote. Ryuji takes that to mean their conversation is over, which is good. They’re probably both at their limit for something so emotionally intense. 

Instead of talking, they watch trashy TV all day. Ryuji makes fun of the actors and Akira nods along, leaning against Ryuji until he falls asleep slumped against Ryuji’s arm. 

Ryuji stays still as long as he possibly can, but eventually he has to get up to use the bathroom, and when he comes back Akira is still asleep, sprawled across the couch cushions. Ryuji drapes a blanket over him, smoothing it over Akira’s shoulders, and that longing he’s always tried to suppress blooms hot in his chest. 

He’s always been a little in love with Akira—he thinks they probably all have, in one way or another. Yusuke once called Akira his muse, and to Futaba he’s the older brother she’s never had. Haru saw Akira as her savior, and for a while Sumire thought of him as her only hope. The sight of his face at certain angles strikes some kind of chord in Ryuji’s heart, even now, even though he loves his wife and wouldn’t trade her for the world. 

Ann would understand, of course. She probably feels something similar. 

They all gave Akira the best of themselves, back then. But now they’ve failed him in the worst way possible. The guilt of it is crushing, and Ryuji has no idea what to do next. 

Feeling unmoored and in desperate need of comfort, he slips into the hallway and takes out his phone to call her. 

Her voice through the phone makes him feel like everything is going to be alright, even before she’s done saying hello. 

“Hey babe,” he says. “How are ya?” 

“What’s wrong?” she asks, sharp as ever. 

“Nothin’s wrong. Just wanted to say hey.” 

“Don’t give me that, Ryuji Sakamoto,” she says, and he can picture her putting one hand on her hip with a fierce glare. “What are you hiding?” 

_ Oh shit.  _

He should have known she’d see right through him. 

“It’s, uh. It’s nothin, really. Just, ah…” He draws in a shaky breath. “Akira’s havin kinda a tough time. I’m worried about him.” 

“He seemed okay the last time I saw him. But that was…” She pauses for a moment. “Oh wow. That was over a month ago. He kept canceling on me but I was so busy I didn’t think twice about it.” 

Ryuji clears his throat. “Yeah. Same.” 

“Ryuji, what’s going on? Please just tell me.” 

Akira appears at the edge of the hallway, blanket draped over his shoulders and his black sweats rumpled. He’s watching Ryuji, his expression blank. 

“Hey, Akira.” Ryuji wipes one sweaty hand on his jeans. “Can I tell Ann what happened? I don’t like keepin secrets from her.” 

Akira just shrugs, brushing past Ryuji and into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. 

“When your photoshoot is done…” Ryuji takes a deep breath, utterly unnerved. “Can you come by Akira’s place?” 

“Fuck the shoot,” Ann says. “I’m on my way now.” 


	4. Chapter 4

When Goro gets home from work in the late evening, Ann and Ryuji are in the kitchen, washing dishes. He barely sees them, scanning the room for Akira the way he used to scope out each area in a Palace before entering. 

“Ryuji told me what happened,” Ann says apologetically, but Goro ignores her. Akira is nowhere to be seen. 

And then—Goro’s heart leaps into his chest when he sees the balcony door is open. He sprints towards it, dashing out onto the small balcony to find Akira leaning idly against the railing, watching the city lights. 

“Akira,” he pants, his panic leaving him breathless. “Akira, I—”

He pulls Akira into a crushing hug, holding him so tightly he can feel the rise and fall of Akira’s chest with each breath, a comforting reminder that Akira is here, with him. Alive, and safe, for as long as Goro can keep him that way. 

Akira lets himself be hugged, limp and pliable as a ragdoll. Then he lets himself be pulled inside, lets Goro lock the balcony door behind him. It’s only a two story drop, but Goro doesn’t know what’s going on in Akira’s head, only that he is a danger to himself. Only that Goro needs to protect him. 

“You let him on the balcony?” he asks Ryuji, nearly incandescent with fury. “I called you over here so you could watch him, and you let him just wander out onto the balcony alone? What if he had jumped?” 

“Chill, man,” Ryuji says. “I asked him if he was gonna jump and he shook his head.” 

“He can’t be trusted,” Goro hisses. “Not after what happened.” 

“Well you didn’t really tell me what happened,” Ryuji says defensively. “And he ain’t talkin, so how am I supposed to know?” 

“I told you more than enough,” Goro says. “I told you—”

Akira claps once, hard enough to send a shock of sound through the room. It’s as effective as if he’d yelled at them to stop. 

“Akira,” Ann says softly. “Why can’t you talk? Did something happen?” 

Her words startle Goro, and he thinks back on every interaction between them over the past few days. Has Akira been mute that whole time? He’s been able to understand what Akira is telling him at every turn, but now that he considers it, all he can remember is Akira’s gestures and the glint of his expressive eyes. 

Now, he turns to Akira and reads weariness, sorrow, and something almost like grief in the dullness of his gaze, the slump of his shoulders. 

_ What did I do to cause this? Why can’t I make it better?  _

“You can tell us,” Ryuji says. “You can tell us anything.” 

Ann glances from Akira to Akechi, then back. “Look, Akira. We have a spare bedroom at our house. Morgana’s there too. Why don’t you come with us for a little while?” 

Goro’s breath catches in his throat, the panic from earlier returning. He can’t lose Akira—he  _ can’t.  _

“Get out,” he growls at Ann and Ryuji. “Get the fuck out.” 

“I wanna hear what Akira wants,” Ryuji says fiercely. “He can come with us if he wants.”

Goro glances at Akira, reading the tension in his body, a guitar string about to snap. 

Of course he would be upset. There’s little he hates more than having to choose between people he loves. Even on a good day, the thought of making a decision like this, weighing his bonds against each other, would paralyze him. 

“Akira doesn’t get a choice,” Goro says, stepping forward. “He is my fiance, this is  _ our  _ home, and if you push the issue I will remove you by force. If you think I’m a monster, that’s fine. But I will  _ not  _ let you take him from me.” 

At his side, Akira relaxes, his hands uncurling from the tight fists he’d made. Goro catches a glimpse of a red smear on his palm, blood from where he’d dug his fingernails into skin. Goro makes a mental note to clip Akira’s nails after he cleans the injuries. 

“We just want what’s best for him,” Ryuji says, and he sounds so frightened and bewildered by the whole situation that Goro almost feels bad for him. Almost. 

Ann looks like she’s on the verge of tears, turning her face away. “Okay,” she says softly. “Okay. We’ll come back soon, Akira, I promise.” 

Akira nods limply, looking like he’s about to crash. 

Goro can’t blame Ann and Ryuji for their concern. They’ve never liked him, but he understands why. Akira sees a side of Goro that no one else is privy to, and he doesn’t expect Akira’s friends to know he’s capable of more than scorn when he has never demonstrated it for them. 

And they aren’t entirely wrong. This is his fault. He’s not sure how, but he’s driven Akira to despair just as Shido did to his mother. And even so, he can’t bring himself to let Akira go. 

As soon as the door closes behind them, Akira sinks onto the couch, drawing his knees to his chest. Goro goes into the bedroom to find the first aid kit, which sees a lot less use than it did back in their Metaverse days. 

He sits on the couch facing Akira, the first aid kit open on the table beside them. Akira obediently sticks out his hands without being asked, and Goro carefully cleans the red half moon imprints in his palm, then turns Akira’s hands over and clips his nails. Akira endures it all in indifferent silence. 

“If I could make you happy, I would,” Goro says as he packs away the first aid kit. It’s not a confession wrought from his chest, just a fact, calmly stated. It’s as true as breathing, as clear as cut glass. 

Goro has rarely been able to say: I love you. But he can say: I’ll take care of you. 

Back when they were teenagers, thrown into a deadly game and pitted against each other, he had wanted to destroy Akira and at the same time had thought of Akira as indestructible. When they met again as adults, it quickly became clear that as dauntless and powerful as Akira might be in the Metaverse, outside it he was as breakable as anyone else. 

That fragility lit a protectiveness in Goro that was perhaps the first non-destructive thing to give his life meaning. Akira had bested him in the Metaverse, defeated Shido where Goro had faltered, and saved Goro from himself. But outside of the Metaverse, he faltered where Goro had been brilliantly successful. They have been equals, always, but their strengths and weaknesses differed so that they complement each other, carry each other through. 

Or so Goro has always thought. 

Now, however, he wonders if he should have let Akira take Ann’s offer. If he should have deepened his relationship with Akira beyond friendship. If he should have come back into Akira’s life in the first place. 


End file.
